


Ain't No Mountain High Enough: Dig in the Ribs (Kick in the Head)

by imaginationtherapy



Series: Shameless [3]
Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: (In chapter 2), Angst, Are you surprised?, Canon-Typical Violence, Chapter 1 is all..., Endeavour Morse Whump, Guard Dog Jakes, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Our Boys Have a Chat, Peter Jakes Didn't Leave Oxford, Peter Jakes to the Rescue!, Shameless, about feelings, appearance no. 1, it goes as you expect, kicking, morse goes to interview a suspect, officially that is, that...got out of hand, this was a tumblr prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-09-02
Packaged: 2020-07-26 00:50:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20035114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginationtherapy/pseuds/imaginationtherapy
Summary: Someone has been harassing police officers all over Oxford. Endeavour Morse goes to interview a suspect. It goes about as well as can be expected.In the aftermath, our boys have a little DTR and Jakes gets to call Morse by a "new" name.





	1. Flick of the Wrist (And You're Dead Baby)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for spamming the tag!!! I have...I have an explanation, I promise!
> 
> There was a Tumblr prompt about a character getting kicked, and then the villain pressing them to the floor with their boots on their chest. I swear, that's all I wanted to write about. But...*sigh*
> 
> But the boys decided they needed to talk, and I mean, they weren't wrong...
> 
> Canon Timeline: After _ Coda _ and _ Game _.  
Shameless Timeline: A fairly short time after _ Marionette Dressed in Blue. _ At this point, these two idiots have been solid friends for quite a while, and recently started engaging in *ahem* more _ intimate _ encounters. Neither have clarified what those encounters really mean.

Bloody hell. Morse had been right  _ again. _

Jakes cursed under his breath as he hurried up the stairs. There was no telling how much time they had. Blast that girl for not coming in sooner. They had lost twelve bloody hours, sitting around just waiting for that maniac to strike at one of their own. 

Jakes nearly bowled over a WPC in his haste to make it to Morse’s desk. He pulled up short, staring in confusion at the empty desk. A quick glance through the glass beyond showed that Thursday’s office was empty. Jakes spun to glare at Strange.

“Where’s Morse?” 

Strange stared at him in confusion for a moment. Then his face cleared. “Oh, right. He said he’d gone out to talk to that kid again.” Strange shrugged, unaware of the chill that had come over Jakes. “Mumbling something about no one listening again. You know how he--”

“Thursday.” Jakes interrupted, fists clenching at his side. “Did he take Thursday with him?” He’d be safe if Thursday was with him.  _ Please have taken Thursday. _

Strange punched half-heartedly at his typewriter. “Nah. Thursday’s with Bright.”

_ Shit. _ “Did he take a weapon?” Morse should have bloody well  _ known _ better than to interview a suspect alone.

“No, why would he? Just a kid.” Strange’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. “You alright, matey? You look a little--”

Jakes kicked at Morse’s desk in frustration. He yanked his coat off of his chair, whirling it on as he faced Strange again.

“Get backup over there,  _ now.” _ Jakes barked. “Tell Thursday. And sign the Jag out for me. Move!” He was halfway across the room again before he’d even finished.

Strange--damn him-- didn’t move. “Jakes, what are you on about?”

Jakes huffed in frustration, spinning on his heel and charging at Strange. “Lousia Pemberton. She just came in downstairs. She admitted it was her and Albert Greene behind everything, egging on the others.” 

The vandalism of the cars, the rubbage and bottles thrown at PCs walking their beat, and the harassment outside officer’s houses. Yesterday, an officer had been knocked unconscious as he left his house, a note decrying “copper’s crimes” stuffed in his collar.

Jakes scrubbed a hand over his face.  _ I’m wasting time! _ But Strange had to know. Thursday had to know what they were walking in on. “Greene called her last night. He was agitated. Said he wanted to take it up a notch, go further.” At Strange’s blank look, Jakes slammed his hands down on the desk. “He wants to kill one of us, Jim! And Morse just walked right into his home.”

Strange’s eyes went round as saucers, and Jakes took a small measure of comfort in knowing he’d managed to rattle the unflappable Jim Strange.

“Now, get backup over there and tell Thursday. See if Bright will issue weapons. She’s certain he’s armed.” Jakes shoved off the desk, striding towards the door.

“What--but--wait, where are you going?”

“Dammit, Strange! Morse doesn’t have time!” Jakes paused for only a moment at the door. “Greene’s been antagonistic to him the last two times we’ve seen him. If he wants one of us dead…” Jakes closed his eyes against the wave of nausea that washed over him. He swallowed hard. “He’s not going to go looking past what’s handed him. Now  _ move,  _ goddammit!”

Jakes turned, sprinting down the corridor. He didn’t have time to care whether or not Strange would question is concern for Morse. Nearly the whole nick knew they’d become friends since...well, since he’d come back, really. They’d been friends for a while longer, but that much wasn’t a secret anymore. Hopefully no one would question it.

Right now, he didn’t care if they did. If it would get them moving faster, he’d tell them the whole damn truth. Might get them kicked out of the nick, but at least it would get Morse out of Greene’s house alive.

The truth was they’d been more than friends for a while now. The truth was Jakes had a spare suit stashed at Morse’s bedsit, and Morse had an extra pair of shoes at Jakes’ flat. The truth was, Jakes had fallen hard for Endeavour Morse quite some time ago. The truth was that he’d started considering the prickly detective constable  _ his Morse  _ recently. And now some upstart hippie with a grudge on his shoulder was threatening  _ his Morse _ .

Jakes skidded up to the desk of the PC in charge of signing out the cars. He reached over the man, snagging a set of keys off the wall.

“Talk to Strange,” Jakes hissed over his shoulder. “He’ll explain!”

Jakes slammed the car into gear and tore out of the motor pool before the stymied PC had even deciphered his words.

He just prayed he wouldn’t be too late.

* * *

Albert Greene hated the police. They’d stolen his childhood, taken his father from him, and nearly destroyed his chance at love. He’d been content to give them a hard time, heckle them a little each day and make their lives miserable. Slashing holes in their tires, throwing rotten vegetables at unsuspecting pigs as they walked by (pigs eat garbage, right?), and slinging horse manure at their houses. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough to repay them for what they’d done to him. And to Louisa.

Attacking that detective had been close, leaving him with a note convicting them of their misdeeds. But they just carried on with their persecution, sending more coppers to his door. They hadn’t  _ felt _ it like he had. And he wanted them to  _ bleed _ . He came to the decision late the previous evening. There was only one way to make those pigs suffer. He had to take one of their own. Maybe more.

He wasn’t sure where to start. He rather wanted to make his choice matter. But when that arrogant  _ prick _ of a detective constable parked outside of his house, well, that one was as good of a place to start as any. The bastard had acted as if he’d known, all along, that it was him. Peered into the corners of his mother’s--no,  _ his _ house as if he could see past the wallpaper into the skeletons hidden behind. Paced around while that shiny-haired dandy stood there watching the both of them. And rumor had it that Detective Constable E. Morse was the favorite toy of D. I. Thursday. If he could punch a D.I. in the gut, Albert would be quite pleased. That should make them bleed.

The best part, of course, was that the copper had come to  _ him _ . He didn’t have to plan anything. Didn’t have to pick a place or figure out how to lure the bastards to him. The man had served himself up on a silver platter. Albert could take his bloody time about it too. Play with the pig a bit. Make  _ him _ scream, the way Albert had in his nightmares.

Albert smiled, reaching his left hand out to open the door. His right hand held his father’s old pistol.

“Hello, constable. I wasn’t expecting to see you again. Won’t you come in?”

Morse stepped in gingerly, eyes darting around the room. He was convinced that Albert Greene was involved in the harassment of Oxford City Police, but had no real evidence with which to prove it. Hopefully he could get something out of the lad today. The attacks had escalated to real violence, and they needed to be stopped before someone actually got hurt. 

Despite what Jakes and Thursday might believe, Morse wasn’t willing to put himself in danger just for the sake of information. He would be cautious. Besides, cases like these usually took a few tries to escalate. One officer had been left unconscious. It would probably take another two or three before the perpetrators moved on to more daring acts of physical harm.

Morse was alert, wary of anyone lurking in the house. However, he had made one small error. He had assumed that Albert was merely  _ involved _ in the incidents. He hadn’t anticipated that Albert Green was, in fact, the ring leader.

Thus, his attention was not fully focused on Albert when the younger man swung a heavy pistol at Morse’s head. 

He crumpled to the ground with a pained cry, catching a glimpse of Albert’s shoes before the world faded to black.

* * *

When Morse blinked his eyes open, wincing at the pain in his head, he found himself staring straight into the hate-filled eyes of Albert Green. And also down the barrel of a revolver that was pressed painfully into his chest.

“Mr. Greene--”

“Shut up,” Albert hissed, digging the gun into Morse’s sternum. Morse gasped with the unexpected pain of the motion. “You don’t get to talk this time. It’s my turn now.”

Morse took a shallow breath, trying not to disturb the deadly steel that was nearly impaling him. “Listen. Albert--”

“No, you listen!” The burning pressure left Morse’s chest as Albert stood swiftly. It was replaced with an explosion of pain along his side as the younger man’s foot connected with Morse’s ribs.

Morse cried out, curling in on the throbbing pain.

“You little shit of a copper. Come into my home--” Albert lashed out again, his foot catching Morse in the spine. Morse gasped, back arching at the agony. “And demanding things of me. What do you know about me? Hmm? What do you know!”

Morse yelped as Albert kicked him in the shoulders. He felt as if his whole body ached, from the dull throbbing in his head to the splintering pain in his side.

“I--I just had---” Morse’s words were cut off as his assailant’s hand covered his mouth, grip hard enough to leave bruises along his jaw.

“I don’t  _ care _ ,” Albert hissed. He pressed down hard on his victim’s face, cutting off Morse’s ability to breathe. He grinned maniacally. “This is just the beginning for your kind. I’m taking my revenge. And you’re the first--” Albert abruptly let go of Morse, backhanding him hard across the mouth. “-- of many.” He repeated the gesture to the other side of Morse’s face, laughing at the blood that trickled from Morse’s mouth.

Albert stood, shoving his hands hard into Morse’s abdomen as he levered himself upright. Morse cried out, arms wrapping around his middle. 

“What the  _ fuck _ \---” Morse gasped. “Did I do to you?” He curled inward, trying to protect himself from Albert’s wrath.

“Your  _ kind _ ,” Albert spat, punctuating his words with a harsh kick at Morse’s back. “Took everything from me. Do you hear me?  _ Everything!”  _ Albert’s foot caught Morse twice more, the final blow a glancing one to the detective’s shoulders. 

Morse yelped, rolling away from Albert to land on his stomach. He lay there panting against the pain that threatened to drown him, trying to remain conscious.  _ Think, Morse. Think! _

He’d told Strange where he was going, but he doubted anyone would be worried about him for some time yet. Between the rage in Albert Greene’s eyes, the hard boots he was wearing, and the gleaming revolver he kept carelessly waving about, Morse didn’t think he had time to wait for backup.

The only problem was, he couldn’t think. Heaven knew, he wasn’t one you’d put money on in a fight. His strengths lay in solving puzzles, not scuffling with fists. There were no obscure references for him to cling to, no operatic lyrics that he could use against Albert. 

Nothing, he had nothing. He never had managed to be a  _ man _ , not like his father had wanted, with fists and bravado. He was going to die here, because his father was right.

And then memories flashed through his mind; one after the other, in time with the menacing footsteps that grew nearer. 

_ Warm, kind hands. Reverent fingers in the darkness. Soft lips on his. Beautiful. Lovely. Mine. _

_ Jakes. _

As Albert lifted his boot and swung it towards the prone detective, Morse realized that he did have something. For the first time, he had the will to  _ live. _ If for nothing else than to just see that stupid, stuck up, wonderful idiot again.

Morse sucked in a breath and reached out with all his might. He wrapped his arm around Albert’s ankle, wincing as the boot scraped against his cheek. Rolling onto his back, he brought his assailant with him, grinning through the pain as Albert landed on the floor. 

Morse shoved the man’s leg off himself, scrambling away. Albert outweighed him, and had the advantage of not having had the shit kicked out of him already. But Morse wasn’t willing to give up. Not yet. Not when...not when he had only just discovered Peter. It might end badly-- probably would with his luck. But Endeavour Morse was a hopeless romantic, and he knew it. If there was a chance for them, he wasn’t going to let this ridiculous excuse of an “activist” take it away from him.

Morse grabbed the edge of a nearby table, pulling himself up with a groan.  _ Damn _ his ribs hurt.

“No!” Albert shouted. 

Morse felt fingers close around his waistband, trying to pull him backwards. In desperation, Morse reached out for a lamp sitting on the table. His frantic brain registered faintly that the object was oddly phallic . Shaking his head--and cursing at a probable concussion--he struck behind him with the lamp. He was rewarded with a curse and the shattering of glass.

The hands vanished from him as Albert fell backwards. Morse’s fingers clutched at the table, using it to haul himself upright. He staggered into the table, barking his hip painfully on the edge. Albert was cursing behind him, and Morse could hear him trying to stand up. Without looking backwards, Morse shoved the table behind him. He hoped it would slow Albert down enough that he could get away.

Morse pushed off of the wall, trying to find his way out of the small flat. The front door was out of the question, Albert blocked that way. Morse staggered towards the back of the flat. There had to be a back door. He found himself bouncing off of the wall twice more as he tried to compensate for aching ribs and a pounding headache. 

He could make it. He had to.

He skidded into the kitchen, colliding with a kitchen island.  _ Back door _ \--there was a back door. Morse sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the way his ribs protested. He pushed himself upright. He couldn’t stop, had to keep moving.

He took one step and then suddenly something hard and unforgiving slammed into his back, right between his shoulder blades.

Morse yelped and stumbled forwards. His hands skated uselessly across the counter as he tried to stay upright. Albert hit him again and he collapsed onto the floor with a cry.

“You bastard!” Albert screamed. His boot came down hard on Morse’s back. 

Pain exploded along Morse’s spine and he yelped.  _ God _ that hurt.

“You fucking pig!” Albert kicked him in the back again. Morse pushed himself up, trying to roll away from the onslaught. 

_ So close.  _ He was so close to the damn door.

Suddenly Albert’s boot slammed down onto his chest. Morse gasped at the sudden pressure.

He couldn’t breathe. The pressure on his chest increased the more he struggled, and Albert only laughed as he gasped for air.

“That’s enough.” Albert growled. “I’ve had my fun. Your  _ friends _ will have a field day with your corpse.” 

The pressure increased and Morse whimpered. He felt his ribs bending beneath the strain. Fuzzily he wondered what would happen if one were to snap under Albert’s boot. Would it impale him? 

Albert bent lower, pressing the muzzle of his revolver into Morse’s chest. “What do you think they’ll feel, hmmm? Knowing how you suffered?” 

Morse bared his teeth, trying to suck in a breath. “They’ll...make sure...you... _ rot _ .”

Albert snarled, pulling the gun up. Morse cringed, knowing what was coming. His only hope now was that he might black out before Albert decided to pull the trigger.

The blow never came.

Instead, Morse felt the pressure on his chest ease with a suddenness that overwhelmed him. He rolled onto his side, gasping for air. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew this was  _ bad _ . The crazed young man had no intention of sparing him. If he’d decided against a bullet to the brain…

Morse didn’t care. He could  _ breathe _ . Whatever might happen next, at least he could breathe.

The simple act of flooding his veins with air obscured everything else. He could vaguely hear scuffling behind him, and thought perhaps he heard a voice other than Albert’s. But he couldn’t focus, couldn’t think-- he just wanted  _ air. _

Then there were hands on him, reaching to turn him over. Morse flinched away, flailing weakly against his assailant.

“Morse! Morse, it’s me.  _ Endeavour!” _

Morse’s head jerked at the sound of a familiar voice. His eyes managed to focus on the pale face above him, it’s expression wavering between fear and anger.

_ Jakes. _

* * *

Jakes blood ran cold at the sight of Morse’s Jag sitting innocently outside Albert Greene’s house. He slammed on the brakes, jerking his own car to the curb. He barely remembered to shut the car off before he tore up the path. The front door was wide open, swaying slightly in the afternoon breeze. Jakes could see broken glass and an overturned end table. He couldn’t hear anything.

Cursing slow traffic and indecisive girlfriends, Jakes sprinted up the steps. He peered inside, forcing himself to be cautious. Albert Greene had a gun, and most likely Morse. Jakes had a nightstick and no idea when backup was going to arrive.

Something crashed further into the house, and Jakes’ head jerked towards the sound.

It was followed by a strangled yelp.

_ Morse. _

Jakes wasn’t really a betting man, but he had no choice. He had to hope that Morse and Greene were both together, and that no one was waiting to ambush him as he bounded through the door. It was Morse’s only hope.

Jakes picked carefully over the broken glass, trying to balance stealth and speed. Another thump and pained cry sliced across Jakes’ skin as he approached the door. He could hear Greene’s voice, angry and crazed, as he yelled something at Morse.

Jakes peered around the corner cautiously. His heart nearly stopped at the sight that greeted him in the dingy kitchen.

Morse was on the ground, a dark bruise marring his pale face. He had his arms wrapped around his abdomen, and appeared to be breathing heavily. Albert Greene stood over him, a revolver clutched in shaking hands.

“Fucking  _ pig _ ,” Albert hissed. Jakes flinched as Albert’s boot made contact with Morse’s back. Morse cried out, uncurling as his body reacted to the blow. 

Before Jakes could move, Albert brought his boot down  _ hard _ onto Morse’s chest, trapping the smaller man beneath him. Jakes clenched his fist as Albert bore down. He could see Morse struggling, could see the fear on his face. Jakes inched forward, shifting the truncheon in his hand. Part of him wished he had waited for a gun, but another part knew he would have been too late had he tarried.

In one swift move, Albert had the gun pressed to Morse’s chest.

“What do you think they’ll feel, hmmmm? Knowing you suffered?”

Jakes ground his heel into the floorboards.  _ Move that pistol an inch and I’ll fucking show you, you bastard. _

Morse spat something back, his words to weak for Jakes to hear. But he saw Albert twitch, saw the gun swing backwards in an arc, and he charged.

Jakes barreled into Albert, using his body to hurl the man off of Morse and the heavy nightstick in his hand to smash the man’s gun hand. The gun went flying, clattering against the far wall and landing on the floor. Jakes spun Albert around, his hand already at the crook’s throat. He slammed the man against the wall. 

It had been a long time since Jakes had felt this level of anger. And a longer time since he’d let it control him. He had learned quickly in his youth that he had to be able to mask his emotions. The more he kept hidden, the more power he had in any given situation. But seeing Morse there, helpless for no reason other than the profession he’d chosen, it had sparked something protective and fearsome in Jakes. And he had no intention of keeping it inside. Not now. Not when he’d come so close to losing something he’d only just discovered.

“How do I feel? How do you think I feel?” Jakes slammed the man into the wall again, his face only inches from the now-frightened face of Albert Greene. “You thought you could get away with this, huh? Thought because he’s a cop, came alone, that he wouldn’t have someone looking out after him?” Jakes fingers tightened on the man’s throat. “You thought wrong, you bastard. What did you do to him? What the  _ fuck _ did you think you were doing?”

Albert’s fingers scratched weakly at Jakes’ hand, but they were no match for Jakes’ fury.

A rasping cough from behind him brought Jakes back to his senses. 

_ Morse _ .

“Consider yourself  _ lucky _ , you son of a bitch.” Jakes snarled. “If he was dead…” But he wasn’t. Jakes pulled back and tossed Albert to the ground. Without a second thought, he brought his nightstick down on the man’s head. He felt no regret as Morse’s would be murderer slumped unconscious. Jakes spared only a few seconds to slap handcuffs about Albert’s wrists, ensuring he could do no further harm. Then he spun around to Morse.

Jakes crashed to the ground next to Morse. He reached out a hand to Morse’s shoulder, flinching back as Morse lashed out against the touch

“Morse! Morse, it’s me.  _ Endeavour!”  _ Ever since that awful day at the prison, Morse had always responded to his name--at least when Jakes said it.

Morse’s body jerked, and his eyes focused on Jakes. “Peter?” he whispered.

“It’s me, Morse.” Jakes slipped his arm under Morse’s shoulders, supporting him. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Breathe.”

Morse’s chest heaved as he gulped in air. His eyes flitted from Jakes, searching the air behind him.

“He’s out,” Jakes soothed. “I took care of him.”

Morse’s face contorted with pain as he coughed roughly. “You---you’re okay?”

Jakes rolled his eyes in spite of his concern. “Christ, Morse. You’re the one that’s been attacked.” Morse struggled against Jakes hold, his eyes roaming Jakes’ body as if checking for injuries. Jakes laid a steady hand on Morse’s chest. “Okay, okay! I’m fine, alright? I’m fine. He didn’t get a chance at me.” Jakes’ gaze darkened. “Unlike you.”

“‘m fine,” Morse wheezed. “Help me up.”

Jakes glared at Morse, but shifted his arm around Morse’s shoulders. Morse barely moved before crying out. He collapsed back against Jakes with a wince.

“Not a good idea,” he huffed. “He got a few kicks in. Before you came.”

Jakes froze, his hand hovering over Morse’s chest. “He got a few--Morse, what the hell?” Jakes lowered Morse to the floor, moving to tug at Morse’s shirt. Good God, how badly was the man hurt?

“Peter, I’m fine! I’m fine, really--” Morse protested. He latched onto Jakes’ hands. “Peter, look at me!”

Jakes glanced up, trying to contain the fear that had spiked through him. “Morse. You’ve just been attacked by a man who wanted nothing more than to kill a policeman.” Jakes intertwined his fingers with Morse’s. His voice softened. “Let me make sure you’re okay. Please?” 

Morse rolled his eyes. His fingers tightened around Jakes’. “Fine. But it was just five or six, really--”

“Six?!” Jakes’ dropped Morse’s hand and started frantically plucking at buttons. “Jesus, Morse.”

Morse sighed. His hands fell to the side as he let Jakes pull up his shirt and vest. 

Jakes cursed under his breath when he caught sight of Morse’s torso. His fingers gently traced over a purpling contusion. “Christ, Morse. You’re already bruising.” Jakes glanced back at Albert, one hand tightening around Morse’s shirt. “Fucking bastard.”

“He can’t hear you, Peter.” Morse’s hand found Jakes again. “And I’m fine. Really. Just...sore.”

“You are  _ not _ fine, Endeavour Morse.” Jakes tugged Morse’s shirt back down. “You look like you’ve been run over by a car.” Jakes balled up his jacket and slid it under Morse’s head. “I’m getting you an ambulance.” 

Morse jerked up, yelping at the motion. “No! Peter, really, I’m fine. I just--”

“Endeavour.” Jakes rested his hand on Morse’s chest. “You are  _ not _ fine and I do not intend to let you  _ stagger _ out of here. You are going to casualty.”

Morse glared at him. “Peter, I--”

“Morse, dammit, listen to me.” Jakes leaned over Morse, searching for Morse’s hand. He took a deep breath. “I left the nick…” Jakes ran his thumb over Morse’s hand. “I left the nick quite convinced I was going to...not find you…” He swallowed, unwilling to finish that sentence. “I don’t want...Morse, if I don’t get you to the hospital, I’m going to spend the next two days worrying about you. Please. Let me...let me get someone to look you over. For me?” 

Morse dropped his eyes to their joined hands. He nodded slowly. “No ambulance.” He gave Jakes a small, pained smile. “No fuss.”

Jakes gave Morse a less than pleased look, but agreed. “I’ll take you as soon as the others get here.”

Morse’s gaze sharpened. His eyes flickered over Jakes’ shoulder. “Wait...where is everyone else? Shouldn’t you have--”

“There was no time, Morse,” Jakes barked. 

“No time--” Morse broke off, disbelief flashing in his eyes. He struggled to sit up and Jakes had to fight to keep him still. “Peter Jakes, are you telling me--let go of me--are you telling me that you--”

“For Christ’s sake, Morse, stay still.” 

“I will  _ not _ lay on the floor like a fucking invalid, Peter.” 

Jakes raised his eyebrows at Morse, mildly shocked at the vehemence in Morse’s words.

Morse sighed. “Help me sit up?” He gave Jakes a doe-eyed stare and Jakes cursed. Morse knew he could get whatever he wanted when he looked like  _ that _ .

“Dammit, Morse. Why are you so fucking stubborn?” Jakes slid his arms under Morse’s shoulders, maneuvering him until he was (mostly) sitting. Then Jakes tugged Morse gently until Morse was resting on Jakes’ chest. “You want to sit up, then I’m holding you.”  
Morse made an indignant sound. “Jakes, I’m--”

“If you say that you are fine one more time, Morse, I’m calling a fucking ambulance. Sit still.” Jakes wrapped his arm around Morse’s chest firmly.

Morse sucked in a deep breath, probably preparing some sort of sarcastic response. Instead, he yelped painfully as the movement jostled his bruised ribs.

Jakes tightened his arm around Morse’s chest. He ground his teeth together in frustration. “What did I say? Dammit, Morse, you got used as a punching bag. Stop  _ moving _ .”

Morse snorted. “You’re the idiot that came charging in here  _ unarmed _ with no backup.” Morse sagged back against Jakes wearily. “He had a  _ gun _ , Peter. He could have  _ shot  _ you.”

Jakes rolled his eyes. “Right, and had I not rounded the corner when I did, he would have shot  _ you _ .”

“Running into something like this is exactly what you always yell at me for, Peter.” Morse continued, ignoring Jakes’ comment. “You can’t just--”

“Shut up and listen to me, Morse,” Jakes growled. Jakes closed his eyes and buried his face in MOrse’s curls. Distantly he could hear the dissonant klaxons from the approaching backup. “Louisa came in this morning. She told me that Albert was behind everything. Said he had called her last night, wanted to kill a copper. She...she couldn’t handle that, she came and told us.” Jakes’ hand found Morse’s and he laced their fingers together. “When Strange told me that you’d come here...” Jakes shook his head. “I couldn’t wait for the others.”

Morse gave a disapproving huff. “You came charging in here with no backup. Peter Jakes, Thursday’ll have your hide!”

The wailing klaxons grew louder. Jakes glanced over his shoulder at the still-unconscious Albert Greene. His grip on Morse tightened. 

“When I found you...he was seconds away from…” Jakes dropped his face to Morse’s hair again. “He was going to shoot you, Morse.” He squeezed Morse’s hand. “I  _ knew _ he was going to...to kill you. I knew it when I saw your empty desk.” Jakes rubbed his hand up and down Morse’s arm. “I couldn’t let that happen. I was almost...almost too late…” Jakes broke off, cursing the sudden surge of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

“Hey, Peter.” Morse snaked his arm up over his head, curling his hand around the nape of Jakes’ neck. His fingers soothed small circles in the tense muscles there. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m fi--” Jakes growled. “I’m  _ going _ to be fine. I’m right here. Okay?” Morse tilted sideways, wincing as he did so. He leaned his head on Jakes shoulder and looked up into Jakes’ eyes. “See? I’m okay. I’m still here.” He smiled at Jakes. “You were in time.” His voice softened. “You were in time.”

Jakes dropped his head and kissed Morse lightly. He let his shoulders relax, just a little.  _ In time. _

They didn’t usually do...whatever this was. They were still dancing around each other, learning things about one another that one didn’t find out between papercuts and corpses. They were still exploring one another in stolen nights at the other’s flat. They were still trying to figure out what they were to each other, what this thing between them really meant. 

At least, Morse was. Jakes knew, he knew damn well how he felt, what this meant to him. That day at the bank, he’d realized that he had lost his heart to Morse some time ago. He knew now, as he held Morse in his arms, praising whatever deity might actually be listening for the fact that Morse hadn’t been hurt worse. He knew. To him, this was forever. This was what he wanted. If he could--if Morse and the universe would let him-- he would hold Morse this close until the end of time. 

What Morse wanted, what he needed, Jakes didn’t know. That uncertainty ate at him daily. The constant fear that Morse would decide this wasn’t for him, that  _ Jakes _ wasn’t for him plagued both his dreams and his day-dreams. Morse was a hard bastard to read. He had a beautiful face, a pale, freckled canvas across which his emotions painted ever-varying pictures. Jakes loved to watch them during the day, as Morse flitted from exasperated to concentrated to delighted. But somehow Morse managed to keep the things he truly cared about hidden deep inside. It was as if he was afraid to show the world what he wanted, in case the world might decide to snatch it away from him. Jakes could relate. 

For now, though, it was enough that Morse’s hands were in his hair. It was enough that Morse was touching him, reaching out and soothing him. It was enough that Morse recognized Jakes’ fear, recognized it and sympathized with it. Jakes realized, as he let his lips place another gentle kiss on Morse’s lips, that Morse could have shoved him away. A few weeks ago, he would have. He would have rolled his eyes and Jakes and told him to stop worrying. Today, he let his elegant fingers work some of the tension from Jakes’ neck. Today, he set aside his sharp tongue and... _ reassured _ Jakes. Today, he drew Jakes down into another kiss.

_ That _ was new.

The moment was broken by the squealing tires and slamming doors. 

Morse jumped. His hands scrabbled at Jakes. “Shit, shit--Peter, we can’t let them--”

“It’s alright,” Jakes soothed. Carefully, he positioned Morse so that he was leaning more against the kitchen island than Jakes. “See? I’ve got you.” 

Morse smiled at Jakes, and for a moment, Jakes felt the world grind to a halt. There was a flash of something in Morse’s eyes and in his smile--something more passionate than Jakes had ever seen. Something that mirrored what Jakes felt in his chest when he thought of Morse. It was there, and then it was gone.  _ But it had been there. _

Jakes let his fingers slip through Morse’s hair quickly. “I’ll get Thursday straightened out, and then we’ll get you to the hospital.” Morse made a face. “Then I’ll get you home and into bed.”

Jakes leaned forward to press his lips to Morse’s one last time. Then Thursday’s panicked voice rang through the house, and Jakes locked his feelings for Morse deep inside where they would be safe.


	2. Don't Look Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Jakes takes Morse to his flat. He just wants to make sure that Morse is okay, make sure that he stays alive through the night.
> 
> Neither one of them expected the night to end this way.
> 
> aka: The boys have a DTR

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is this? This is me, having a fever, being emotionally and physically exhausted, and deciding to finish something I started a while ago.
> 
> Is it good? No clue. Is it coherent? Maybe not. Is it OOC? Entirely possible.
> 
> Here...have some words? *shrugs*

“Peter, that’s...you missed the turn to my flat.” Morse’s words were quiet and there’s a pinched quality to the sound of his voice that made Jakes’ heart ache. He was trying, as he always did, to pretend everything was fine. But the stiff way he held himself and the way his head rested awkwardly on the seat suggested otherwise.

Besides, Jakes knew better. He had seen the assault--well, he had seen _ enough _ of it at least. He had seen the bruises that painted Morse’s chest. He had seen the heavy rubber of Albert Greene’s boots. And he had been there when a frowning doctor had reported to Jakes and Thursday that _ Mister _ Morse was insisting on going home despite his _ professional opinion_. 

Jakes had left with a bottle of pain pills, some cream, and explicit instructions from Thursday to take Morse _ straight home_. And implied instructions to do whatever necessary to make sure he _ stayed there_. 

Jakes nodded. “You’re coming to mine. I’ll call Thursday so he doesn't worry.” Morse opened his mouth to protest--_ what will they think _\-- but Jakes’ cut him off. “The doc said you need to rest, and we both know you won’t rest if I send you home.” Morse shut his mouth with a weak glare. “Thursday knows that too.” Jakes flashed Morse a wicked grin. “I can embellish it a little. Say you passed out on the way home. Or complain about staying on that thing you insist is a couch.”

Morse rolled his eyes and huffed. Jakes softened his grin into a fond smile. At least Morse still had the energy to be mad at him. That was worth something. 

“What, is it that bad, coming to stay with me?”

Morse glanced over at him. “Of course not,” he spat. Exhaustion had leached all the venom out of his voice. But something lingered just under the surface. It sounded suspiciously like worry.

Jakes sighed. Whatever Morse was worried about could wait until later. He needed to get Morse inside, out of those dirty clothes, and safely tucked into bed. Thank goodness Morse was used to borrowing Jakes’ pajamas. He didn’t think he had the energy for that fight. 

Jakes would make up whatever excuse he needed, but the truth was that he needed Morse under his watch tonight. Greene had scared him more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t something he was used to, being concerned about someone. That ache in his chest when Strange told him, it was sharp and new. It had lingered through Thursday’s questions and the doctor’s ministrations. It hung about him now, like a cold fog that he couldn’t escape.

Jakes’ hands had itched to reach out and hold Morse, but he couldn’t, not with Thursday there. Something had twisted in him when he watched Thursday help Morse to the car, a bittersweet feeling of gratitude and regret. Morse needed more caring hands on him, but Jakes wished it could have been him with an arm around Morse’s waist, him that Morse could lean on in front of _ anyone_. Thursday was good to Morse, and Jakes was grateful for that. Grateful too that Thursday had let him come along to casualty, apparently sensing Jakes’ own concern. But it wasn’t enough.

All he really wanted to do was hold Morse, just for a little while. Just to know he was still there. It was ridiculous, he knew. Morse wasn’t really _ his_, could never be...probably _ would _ never be. Just for tonight, though, he wanted to pretend. Wanted to fuss over Morse, fix him a cup of tea, make sure he stayed in bed for once. It wasn’t healthy, most likely, to act like this was something he could have. Downright dangerous, in fact, to assume he could get away with _ coddling _ Morse. But it had been a long day, and _ dammit _ he was going to try.

* * *

By the time they made it to Jakes’ flat, Morse had lapsed into an uneasy silence. Jakes could hear his breathing hitch every time the car bumped over the pavement in a particularly aggressive manner; he had to resist the urge to apologize every time. Jakes wasn’t sure which of them was more relieved to finally make it to their destination. 

Jakes pulled to the curb and hopped out quickly. He opened Morse’s door, reaching in to help Morse up. Morse batted Jakes hands away.

“I can still walk, Peter.” 

“Right.” Jakes rolled his eyes and extended his hand again. “Can you actually get out of there by yourself?” 

Morse struggled for a moment before giving up with a dejected huff. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Jakes bent down, gently helping to haul Morse out of the car. “Exactly how did you think you were going to make it on your own tonight?”

Morse flinched, and for a moment, Jakes thought he had jostled Morse’s ribs. He glanced at Morse quickly, searching for new signs of pain, but Morse merely looked uneasy. Jakes’ eyes flicked up and down the street, and he readjusted his hold on Morse. 

“It’s alright, Morse.” He kicked the door shut behind him and tugged Morse towards his flat. “Nobody’s going to think anything of this. Just one bloke looking out for another. Happens enough.”

Morse muttered something noncommittal, and Jakes decided to leave it for now. He didn’t blame Morse for being worried; hell, he was scared stiff himself half the time. If anyone found out...well, it wouldn’t do to think about that now. What-ifs and worries could wait until Morse wasn’t painted with four different shades of purple.

Jakes kept a steady arm wrapped around Morse until they were safely inside. Once he’d locked the door behind him, he slid his arm lower, wrapping it around Morse’s waist possessively. He closed his eyes for a moment and leaned into Morse, taking a deep breath. It steadied the still-racing beat of his heart, and he allowed himself a few more seconds of peace.

“You’re okay,” he whispered softly. A warm hand settled over the one that Jakes had tucked against Morse’s waist. Jakes’ eyes opened and he found Morse staring at him. 

Morse gave him a tired smile. “I’m okay, Peter. Really.” His hand squeezed Jakes’ gently, a steady reassurance.

Jakes nodded, trying to pretend that _ he _ was okay. The last thing he wanted tonight--no, the last thing he _ needed _ \-- was to scare Morse off. Morse was a prickly bastard, it made him unpredictable and stubborn and _ wonderful _\--but it also meant he was just as likely to run from affection as to welcome it. Jakes needed him here tonight, even if he knew damn well he was lying to himself by insisting it was just for Morse’s own good.

He pasted on a lighter smile, hoping it didn’t look too forced. “C’mon, then. Let’s get you changed and into bed.” Jakes ignored Morse’s protest and tugged him towards the bedroom. “I’m not having you fall down on my watch. Thursday will kill me.”

Morse hesitated. “Peter. I can...I can sleep on the couch.” His body shifted away from Jakes and towards the couch. “It’s...it’s fine. I don’t want--”

“Nonsense, Morse.” Jakes steered Morse up the hall. He missed the frightened, guilty wince that crossed Morse’s face. “You’ll sleep in my bed. It’s big enough for the two of us. _ As we know _.”

Morse fell silent until they made it to the bedroom. Jakes gently pushed him onto the bed and then started undoing the buttons on Morse’s shirt. Morse would probably protest that he could _ undress himself just fine, thank you _, but Jakes knew how it felt to have been kicked around. Morse needed to keep those ribs as still as possible. 

Mentally, Jakes went through which of his shirts would be the softest for bruised skin. He wondered if Morse would let him rub the cream in, or if he would balk at that. He was an awkward sod about his body sometimes, despite Jakes’ rather explicit admiration of it. 

Trembling fingers on his wrists brought Jakes out of his thoughts. His eyes flicked to Morse’s face, expecting almost anything but what he saw.

Morse was _ terrified_.

“Morse!” Jakes hand flew to Morse’s shoulder. “Morse, what’s wrong?”

Morse glanced away from Jakes. He shook his head. “I’m...Peter, I just…” He looked back up at Jakes. There were _ tears _ in his eyes. Tears and..._guilt_? “I’m exhausted. I can’t...It’s not that I don’t want to but...everything hurts, Peter. I don’t think I can...you know…”

Jakes felt his jaw drop.

Morse thought ...bloody hell. Bloody _ fucking _ hell.

“Morse.” Jakes tried his best to keep his voice level. His hand tightened reflexively on Morse’s shoulder. “Why do you think I brought you back here?”

Morse swallowed. His eyes flicked to Jakes’ lips then back up to his eyes. He reached out a trembling hand--Jakes did his best to ignore the bruise on his wrist-- and cupped Jakes’ face.

“I can’t tonight, Peter.” He whispered. “I want to, but I can’t. I’m so tired…” He looked at Jakes with anguish in his eyes. “I’m grateful, I am, but I…” His eyes squeezed shut, and Jakes could see fear etched in the lines of his face. Fear of rejection.

_ God. _

Jakes let out the breath he had been holding. He collapsed on the bed next to Morse and tugged Morse’s hand into his own.

“Morse, I didn’t...hell, Morse.” He shook his head. “Who the hell messed with you?” He rubbed his thumb over Morse’s slender hands. Morse’s eyes flickered open; they were full of confusion. “I didn’t bring you here for _ sex _, Morse.” Morse’s eyes widened as if affronted by Jakes’ frank language. Of course he was. “I’m not trying to undress you because I want something out of you. I just...God, Morse. You’ve had the shit beat out of you today.” He freed his hand and ran it through Morse’s curls. God he loved those curls. 

Morse closed his eyes and leaned into Jakes’ touch. 

“I just want you to be comfortable, Morse. I don’t...I don’t want anything _ from _ you. I just….shit, Endeavour.” Jakes dropped his hand. He was making a right hash of this.

_ I just want to hold you, to know that you are safe. I want you to be right there when I wake up tonight, dreaming of Greene and his boots. I want to be able to reach out and makes sure that you’re still there, still breathing. I just want to make sure you don’t wake up screaming from the nightmares you pretend not to have of that place. I just want to be close to you, to wake up next to you, to hold you. _

He couldn’t say any of those things. 

Morse blinked his eyes open. His sharp gaze darted over Jakes’ face. “Peter?”

Jakes sighed. Fuck it, he was already in too deep. “I just want to hold you, Morse. Nothing more.” He squeezed Morse’s hand. “I want to make sure you’re safe. I was...I was afraid. Earlier today.” He shook his head, long fingers tracing patterns over Morse’s pale hand. “Still am, Morse. I want to...I want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

Morse stared at Jakes. Relief, confusion, disbelief, suspicion--all danced across Morse’s face in rapid succession. 

“You...you aren’t mad that I...that I can’t…”

Jakes leaned forward and tenderly kissed the question from Morse’s lips, undemanding and slow. _ No_. He pulled back, staring into Morse’s eyes.

“I would be mad if you _ tried _, Endeavour Morse,” he murmured. “You’re in no condition, and if I ever find out that one of your past…” Jakes made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. “That anyone you’ve been with every tried to pressure you into...when you were like this?” He growled. “I’ll kill somebody.”

Morse cracked a smile, one of those half-hearted things that made Jakes go weak in the knees every damn time. Jakes sighed. He gently traced the bruise on Morse’s face. 

“I know...I know we haven’t really talked about what...whatever it is we’re doing.” Morse’s eyes darkened at Jakes’ words. “I know this...this is different.” Jakes tried to give Morse a reassuring smile, tried to pretend he wasn’t bloody terrified that Morse would just up and _ leave _ . “But...oh, _ hell_.” 

Morse’s hand caught Jakes, and he twined their fingers together. “I was scared too, Peter.”

Jakes stared at Morse for a moment. Then he sighed. This was what they did, wasn’t it? Dance around each other, unable to say what they wanted to say. Trapped by their own pasts and the expectations that shaped their futures. It was hopeless, destined to fail, impossible to survive.

Then Morse smiled at him, and Jakes caught sight of that brief flash of _ something _ that he had seen earlier. Jakes shook his head. It might be destined to fail, but maybe going down in flames was better than dying cold and alone.

He leaned forward to brush his lips against Morse’s. “Will you let me get you out of these now?” His fingers tugged at Morse’s rumpled shirt.

Morse glanced down at himself and Jakes could see the protest in his eyes. _ Stubborn sod_, Jakes thought fondly. Morse heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m so fucking sore.”

Jakes couldn’t help the honest laugh that startled them both. “I’m sure you are, you idiot.” He heaved himself off the bed and resumed his task of unbuttoning Morse’s shirt.

Morse watched Jakes silently. He moved stiffly as Jakes tugged off his shirt and vest, only grimacing slightly when he lifted his arms over his head.

“Thank you,” he murmured as Jakes stood to grab a softer shirt. When Jakes turned around, Morse was staring at him curiously.

“What?” 

“You’re so different...than I expected.” Morse reached out for the shirt. Once they’d wrestled it on together, he continued. “You were always so...competitive. About women. I didn’t expect you to be...like this.”

Jakes could read between the lines. It wasn’t just that Morse didn’t expect this gentleness from Jakes. It was that he didn’t expect it from anyone. Jakes felt a familiar anger burning in him at both Morse’s previous “lovers” and his bastard of a father. 

Jakes dug a pair of pajama bottoms from his drawer and handed them to Morse. “It was mostly an act, Morse.” Jakes reached out to keep Morse from falling over. “I learned...early on...that if you talked a big game, they left you alone. Everyone.” He shrugged. “It wasn’t all untrue. Most of it was, but not all of it. I didn't want questions asked about me. If I started the rumors on my own, at least I could control what was said about me.”

Morse watched him silently, his eyes full of deep understanding. It unnerved Jakes a bit, having that piercing gaze turned on him and not knowing exactly what puzzle Morse was trying to solve. He guided Morse towards the bed, trying to evade Morse’s eyes. 

“As for this?” Jakes pulled the blanket back over Morse. He stood there for a minute, staring down at the man he could--at least for now-- call his _ lover _. On a whim, he sat down next to Morse and ran his fingers through his hair. Morse looked so fragile, as if he might break if Jakes weren’t careful enough. 

God, what was he supposed to say? Had he been this careful with the others he’d brought home over the years? Hell no. They had been one night stands, and both parties had known it. It was a release of tension, a way to find pleasure in a world that seemed to be filled only with pain. He had rarely seen them again--men or women. They’d enjoyed their time together, enjoyed worshiping and being worshiped by a stranger, and then they had gone their separate ways. No hard feelings.

This...this was not _ that. _

And maybe that’s what Morse needed to hear. Maybe he needed to stop dancing around this. 

Jakes kissed Morse gently on the forehead. Morse stared at him, eyes wide. Well, maybe he hadn’t done that before...

“I’ll be right back. Okay?” Jakes squeezed Morse’s shoulder gently. If he was going to...if he was going to try and explain this to Morse, he wasn’t going to walk away right after. It had waited this long, it could wait another five minutes.

* * *

Jakes climbed under the blankets a few minutes later. Morse had watched him silently the whole time, his blue eyes tracking Jakes’ every move.

Jakes slid as close to Morse as he dared. They’d lain wrapped in one another’s arms a few times now, but always _ after _ . Never just...just to be close to each other. It always took Morse a bit to loosen up-- a few heated gazes, some suggestive touches, and Jakes’ perpetual flirting before Morse would let his guard down. Even then, he was often as skittish as a horse, desperate to please and pleasure rather than to be pleased and pleasured. Jakes didn’t know how he would react to just...being held. As much as Jakes wanted it, longed to just hold Morse, know he was there...he didn’t want to scare Morse. Didn’t know if Morse wanted that. Didn’t want Morse to think that he wanted _ more_.

Jakes propped himself up on one elbow so that he could look down at Morse. His free hand found Morse’s under the blanket. Morse tangled their fingers together willingly. 

“Before, that was mostly talk, like I said.” Jakes started tentatively. “But this...God, Morse.” He bit his lip. “Look, I don’t...I don’t know what this is. Between us. But...today, when I saw Greene...I just..._ fuck_.” Jakes closed his eyes.

Morse squeezed his hand. Jakes opened his eyes to find Morse staring at him. Uncertainty flickered in his eyes. _ Dammit, _ he was scaring the man. 

“Jesus, Morse. I’m not good with words.” Jakes took a deep breath. He wanted to say this, needed to say it. Even if...even if to Morse this wasn’t...wasn’t what it was to him. He had to know. “What I’m trying to say is this is different. For me, at least. I’m not...I’m not doing this--us-- _ that... _ just because I need a quick shag. There’s something about you, Morse. This, right now, this is me…” Jakes paused. _ Fuck _ he wished he knew what he was trying to say. “I want to be with you. Like...like Dixon is with his girl. I know it’s crazy, I know men like us don’t...don’t do that, not really. But…” Jakes closed his eyes. He couldn’t look Morse in the eye; he was afraid of what he would find. “But I want it anyway,” he finished, his voice nearly a whisper.

For a moment, there was nothing. No sound, no movement..._ nothing. _

Then suddenly Jakes’ arms were full of Morse. He curled towards Jakes with a small sob, his hands clutching at Jakes’ shirt. 

“I shouldn’t let you say things like that,” Morse murmured into Jakes’ shirt. His voice was choked with pain and emotion. “I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t let myself believe you. I shouldn’t..._ damn it_, I shouldn’t let you see me like this.” He paused, his chest heaving. “But I’m tired. I’m tired and I hurt like hell and I don’t care. I don’t fucking care.” Morse pressed his face into Jakes’ chest. “I want it too, Peter. God help me, I want it too.”

Jakes sucked in a sharp breath. “Morse…”

“Don’t ask me anything,” Morse hissed. “I can’t answer. I just...that night. Our first night. I was afraid, remember?” Jakes nodded, not trusting his voice. “I was afraid because this..._ this _ is what I wanted. I didn’t want...I didn’t want to just…” He took a shuddering breath. “I didn’t want to just fuck and then pretend it didn’t happen. Or...or keep doing it. And not…” He shook his head and pulled himself closer to Jakes. “I don’t want anyone else.”

Jakes couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t find air or thoughts. Morse...Morse had wanted this even then? That night? Jakes had known since long before then, but he hadn’t dreamed that Morse might feel anywhere near the same way. He’d wanted to worship Morse, to show him how good it was supposed to be. He’d been willing to take as many chances as Morse would let him. But the idea that Morse had wanted more, even then?

Jakes dropped his head and kissed Morse’s curls. “I don’t either, Morse.” 

Morse pulled back abruptly. He stared at Jakes for a long moment, an intent look on his face. Finally he spoke. “Dev.” The word was firm, almost aggressive. “I want you to call me Dev.”

Jakes blinked. “What?”

Morse shook his head. “If this...if we’re doing this, _ something _ . I don’t want...all the others, they’ve all called me _ Morse _. Not you.” Morse smiled. It was a wobbly, uncertain smile, but somehow it seemed as if Morse were breaking free from some prison that he’d been trapped in for a long, long time. “I don’t like my name. But when you say it…” He took a deep breath. “I call you Peter. I want you to call me Dev. Just you. No one else.”

Jakes surged forward and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around Morse and kissed him as if there was nothing else in the world. Who knew what tomorrow might bring. Who knew how long this thing might last. Today, he had Morse. Today, he had _ Dev. _

A whimper from Morse brought Jakes back to himself. He recoiled from Morse like he’d been shot.

“Fuck, M--_ Dev _ .” Morse _ beamed _ at him. Jakes shook his head, trying to stay focused. “You’ve...you’ve been fucking beaten. What the hell are we doing?”

Morse grinned at him and then fell gracelessly back onto the pillows. He groaned and his eyes fluttered closed. “Why did you remind me?” He grimaced. “Fuck.”

Jakes snorted. His hand brushed back a few loose curls from Morse’s face. Morse blinked up at him. He searched Jakes’ face as Jakes let his hand come to rest on Morse’s shoulder.

“So this...this is a thing.” Morse whispered. “You and me? Not just…” His eyes wavered uncertainty. “Susan. You know a bit. And Monica. Since then, I haven’t...I haven’t had anyone…” He shrugged awkwardly. Jakes tried not to laugh at his sudden bashfulness. “No one has stayed.” His lips curled into a small smile. “Especially not...men don’t stick around. Ever.” 

There was vulnerability in Morse’s voice, sharp and brittle and painful. For all Morse’s arrogance and intelligence, the facade he presented to the world was just that--a facade. Underneath he was as frightened and lonely as they all were. As Jakes was, if he were honest. 

Jakes wrapped his hand around Morse’s face. “If you want it to be, then yes. This is..._ we _ are a thing.” Jakes smiled at Morse. “I don’t know...I don’t know what that looks like. I don’t know how we even make this work. But…” He nodded. “This is a thing. And I’m willing to try and figure that out.”

Morse smiled at him. “I don’t know why you would want this. With me. But right now…” He closed his eyes and leaned into Jakes hand. “Right now I don’t care.”

Jakes sighed. Bloody insecure Morse. He leaned over and kissed Morse on the forehead again. “Mor--_ Dev _ …” _ God, _ why did Morse look so bloody happy when he said that? “I do want you...want to be with you. Not just at night, and not just for a shag. I want...I want to hold you, when you’re hurt. And get you to bloody _ eat _ something. I want to know you’re safe.” He sighed. “We can talk about it later. Just...for tonight, _ Dev _, will you let me hold you? Can you just...trust me?”

Morse’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “I can try.”

Jakes dropped back down and shimmied up to Morse. Carefully he wrapped his arms around Morse’s chest and tangled their legs together. He rested his chin on the top of Morse’s head. 

“Whatever this looks like between us, this is part of it, Dev,” Jakes murmured. He felt a thrill run through him as he realized again the privilege--the _ trust _ \-- that Morse had given him with that name. “I will hold you, whenever you need me to. We...we don’t have to _ do _ anything.” Jakes kissed Morse’s curls. “We can, but we don’t have to. If you...if you need me to just...hold you. I want to, Mor--Dev. I want to.”

Morse hummed. Jakes felt him inhale, as if to respond, and he cut him off.

“Shhh, just rest, okay? This...this is why I brought you here. I wanted to hold you. I didn't ...I didn’t know if you would let me. But this is what I wanted. To just....to make sure you are alright. And to…” Jakes took a deep breath. “To be close to you.” He let out the breath, long and slow, and he felt the fear and adrenaline from earlier slowly leave his body. “To be close to you, Dev.”

Morse’s hand came to rest over Jakes’ arm. “You feel safe.” His voice was low, and Jakes almost wondered if he meant to say the words out loud. Morse’s head rocked beneath Jakes’ chin, as if he were dismissing a thought. “Didn’t always, but...you always spoke your mind. Told me what you thought.” Jakes winced; he’d rather not remember the prick he’d been back then. Morse’s chest heaved with a short laugh. “Funny...I knew whatever you said, you weren’t lying. Weren’t pretending.” Morse turned his head, tucking it closer to Jakes. “I shouldn’t trust you, probably. But I do.” His fingers tightened over Jakes’ wrist, and Jakes could feel the spike of fear as it washed over Morse. “Please…”

Jakes cut him off with a kiss to his forehead. “I’m not going to let you go, Morse..._ Dev. _”

Morse nodded, slow and cautious. 

Jakes sighed. “Just rest now. We can talk...we can figure this out. But you’re hurt and you’re sore and I just want to know you’re safe. Rest.” Jakes kissed Morse again. “Don’t look back. Whatever comes tomorrow, we can face together.”

Morse’s fingers relaxed their hold on Jakes’ wrist, becoming something softer. “Together,” he murmured.

Jakes held Morse until his breathing deepened into the steady pattern of sleep. His life hadn’t been easy, and it had been full of things that he would rather forget. He’d worked hard to get where he was, worked hard to gain his reputation and his rank. For a time, that was all that had been important to him--the respect and security of a job well won. He could go out and get what he wanted, take anyone home and then set them free the next day. 

He hadn’t intended to find someone that he didn’t want to let go.

He most certainly hadn’t intended to find that someone in the young upstart that had promptly stolen his position as bagman. 

But now that he had found Morse, now that he had him safe in his arms, he wasn’t letting go.

And he sure as hell wasn’t looking back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, thoughts are appreciated. I'm super exhausted and I'm not even sure any of these sentences were coherent, let alone contributing in a meaningful manner to the plot. Hopefully it makes some sense and is at least not OOC given the universe i'm constructing...though that's probably hard to judge since you're missing the entire first half of this disaster universe.
> 
> Anyhow, HI GUYS I had the urge to impulse post without having anyone look over this. Apologies in advance. Also---I promise, the next chapter of Here Comes the Sun is coming. As well as a Dadsday look at the Morse vs. Greene interaction.
> 
> I'm going to bed now...

**Author's Note:**

> There will be another chapter in this specific fic (hopefully up tomorrow?), as well as a related fic from Thursday's POV (centered mostly on Thursday and Morse's relationship because DAMMIT I want to write something not-Jarse for once!), and a _ Bridge Over Troubled Water _ installation that picks up directly from the end of this (and includes CUDDLES).
> 
> *sigh* I...I can't...I can't control my muse. I think I need an intervention...
> 
> Oh...about that lamp that Morse saw...it's a [ skyscraper bullet boudoir lamp ](https://www.ebay.com/itm/2-Art-Deco-Skyscraper-Torpedo-Bullet-Glass-Boudoir-Lamps-Vintage-Set-12-Tall-/233240854647). As to why it's in here? Short answer: my life is wierd. Long answer willingly provided upon inquiries. :D


End file.
